Cypress Wings Along the Tiber

As evening settles over the Tiber, Marcus finds a rare moment of quiet reflection while continuing his woodwork alongside Titus. With the frantic disruptions of the past days temporarily quieted, Marcus sits on a rough-hewn bench outside his riverside shelter. Under the dim, flickering light of a clay lamp, he meticulously shapes a fresh block of cypress wood, his hands moving with practiced rhythm.

Titus shares simple rations nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the riverbanks while offering steady, quiet companionship far from the heavy political and social turmoil gripping the rest of Rome. The river laps softly against the stone pilings, carrying away the noise of the merchant quarters and the lingering dread of Gaius's desperate threats.

The next evening, under the dim light of a tallow candle, Marcus formally presents the finished wooden falcon to Titus by the riverbank, strengthening their bond of quiet companionship.

The porter accepts the token with quiet reverence, his calloused fingers tracing the smooth, tapered wings of the bird. In the silence of the waterfront, the small carving seals a silent pact of protection they have forged against the chaos of the city—a fragile anchor holding fast as the dark current of the river continues to roll past.